


all the skeletons i carry

by bluu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Kinda, M/M, Post-Graduation, Relationship Study, i'm fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7837123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluu/pseuds/bluu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But perhaps most importantly, he wondered this: <i>How are you holding up? Do you still forget to take your contacts out before bed? Who is there to remind you not to stay up until four in the morning analyzing game replays? Who is there to tell you not to overwork your already injured knee? Who is there to scold you when you skip dinner? Do you still need me as much as I need you?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	all the skeletons i carry

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "phone calls (interlude)" by atlas, off of his album "skeletons"

Like chapters in a book, high school was a moment confined in the inevitability of time. There was no going back after graduation; once you were out, you were out, and all the memories and the people in between were forever sealed in the past. You could go and revisit them - through Facebook albums, yearbooks, and awkward catchups over coffee - but it would never be the same once it ended, much like you can never experience a story again once you've read it.

Flip the page, move on. It was nice while it lasted.

Now, Iwaizumi made the stupid decision of staying in Miyagi after graduation. On a purely factual level, it was the best decision for him and his family. Sendai University was much cheaper than the renowned schools of Japan, the college was of the the only ones in the nation to offer a specialized physical education degree, and Iwaizumi didn't have to haul himself and everything he had ever known to a big city with too many strangers and not enough quiet.

The problem was that everything he had ever known was meant to be right here. Supposedly. But in reality, his lifehas traveled someplace else without him, far beyond his reach, leaving him in the dust of happier times.

It was quite annoying, the feeling of being a stranger in your own home. Though, Iwaizumi figured, where he lived wasn’t really home if home was playing Division I collegiate volleyball at the University of Tokyo, which was conveniently located in the bustling busy crowds of the city and also 300 kilometers away from him.

Iwaizumi didn't know what to do now that all of Aoba Johsai was scattered around the country. Occasionally, he walked by school campus, but that felt empty, even with high schoolers running around. He'd TA for a PE class down at Seijou for some of his class requirements, but the kids simply weren't that interesting to teach. None of them had the ambition or vivacity or sheer will that he was used to seeing from Seijou athletes. None of them had shitty hair or shittier personalities - in fact, they were all decent, good, normal kids. And that irked him. The faces of Seijou weren't supposed to be this boring.

Miyagi, Iwaizumi decided, was kinda shitty.

 

* * *

 

So, naturally, Iwaizumi wondered. About Tokyo. About apartments, stacked upon each other like dominos. About Ikebukuro and Shinjuku and Shibuya, and all the nameless faces in the streets. He wondered about the past; maybe if he was a little smarter, played a little better, tried a little harder, he’d be lolling in the streets of a metropolis too far away. He wondered about the future; where he’ll be in twenty years, whether he’ll ever leave Miyagi, whether it’ll ever be the same.

Perhaps more importantly, he wondered about the present. About how dislocated knees were holding up during daily regimens. About carefully gelled hair and the denial that it was styled. He wondered about late nights and early mornings, about concealer to hide the eye bags. He wondered about the fake smiles, the real smiles, and who could tell.

But perhaps most importantly, he wondered this: _How are you holding up? Do you still forget to take your contacts out before bed? Who is there to remind you not to stay up until four in the morning analyzing game replays? Who is there to tell you not to overwork your already injured knee? Who is there to scold you when you skip dinner? Do you still need me as much as I need you?_

 

* * *

 

The question was, why didn’t Iwaizumi call? Or text? Or LINE? Or _something_?

That was a good question. Iwaizumi didn’t really know. Maybe it was because he knew they were both busy. Sendai University was a pretty rigorous school, and Iwaizumi drowned himself in his classwork, throwing himself with the same vigor he formerly reserved for volleyball. University of Tokyo was bound to be as hard, if not much more difficult - it _was_ the best university in the nation, after all. Of course he would be busy - who has time for high school friends when you have practice every day and training on weekends?

Or, more likely, maybe it was because he was afraid. Afraid of being ignored in favor better wing spikers, nicer friends. Maybe he was afraid of the cold shoulder, of a reply saying _“Sorry! Just got this!”_ that was an obvious euphemism for _“I don’t want to talk to you right now, please stop texting me.”_ After all, no texting was better than shitty, half-assed texting, as far as Iwaizumi was concerned. At least then there was a concession, and not the crushing of lifted hopes when a LINE notification said nothing but the few words of an excuse.

Most likely, it was because he doesn’t know what to say. And not knowing what to say after years of effortless jibes and easy laughter was just a little too depressing of a reality check for Iwaizumi to handle.

 

* * *

 

What’s ironic, however, is that Iwaizumi always winded up hearing about how he’s doing anyway. Instagram posts and Facebook status updates managed to key him in to every single detail left unsaid in the lapses of communication between them.

_“Just won semi-finals!!!!!! (ﾉ≧ڡ≦) Had a great night out with the boyssssssss. Who knew Ushiwaka-chan was so terrible at holding his liquor Wwwwwwww (≧∇≦*)”_

Which fucked him up a little, because this is what Iwaizumi knows about him: _he_ doesn’t like hanging out in big groups because putting up his flawless facade was, understandably exhausting. _He_ hates drinking because he likes and prides his lucid intelligence while sober. _He_ doesn’t like going out at night because he would rather spend his time at home, dissecting volleyball matches, always analyzing, always learning. And _he_ would _never_ use the name Ushiwaka in anything other than a bitter and scorned context.

Just who was this guy masquerading on all of his (ex) best friend’s social media accounts?

Iwaizumi, with an overwhelming impulse to vomit, unfriended him.

 

* * *

 

It got easier, kind of. Iwaizumi stopped contemplating, clamping down any thoughts that threatened to stray towards sentimentality. He stopped going down to Seijou. He found a better way to travel from school to home, a route that didn’t go down the streets they used to walk home from practice on. He avoided social media like the plague, turned off all of his notifications, and focused on school. He got an internship. He tried a few dates here and there (he stopped as soon as he realized that all of the girls he sought out were intense, confident brunettes with a penchant for flirting), and he made some new friends. Things were moving along quite nicely.

It was times when he was alone at home, home from work and finished with school work, where Iwaizumi violently gets an unscratchable itch to walk a few blocks over and hang out with him, even if it just meant doing nothing and spending the night in comfortable and warm silence. But he couldn’t, since that house down those three blocks west sold on the market half a year ago, and there was nobody left for Iwaizumi to spontaneously visit with a horrible alien movie and a family sized bag of chips.

Unfortunately, it was only when Iwaizumi was already halfway out the door, Cheetos in hand, when this realization would strike down him like lightning, rattling him out of his fantasy and jolting him back to the cold harsh reality that was the fact that his best friend was gone for good. 

So Iwaizmi would put away the movie in the cabinet and the chips in the pantry, turning out the lights. Cold.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, Iwaizumi wished he said something. When, exactly, he didn’t know. He supposed that was part of the problem - it never really was clear when Iwaizumi fell, just that he did and it quietly swallowed him whole, like the slow erosion of rock from river stream - slow, gradual, but inevitable. Maybe Iwaizumi should have told him when they were in kindergarten and they met for the first time, Iwaizumi mistaking him for a girl. Maybe he should have said something at their first volleyball camp, where he shone brighter than he had ever before. Maybe he should have said something when he stopped him from socking Kageyama in the face. Maybe he should have said something when they made the decision to attend Aoba Johsai together. Maybe he should have said something when they lost against Karasuno. Maybe he should have said something when they graduated.

Although, Iwaizumi still wasn’t sure what he would say. _“Hey, fucker. Trash. Shitface. I love you”_? It didn’t sound that romantic or even genuine, even to his abrasive sensibilities.

Maybe that was why he was so eager to flee to Tokyo, away from him. Iwaizumi was always too brash, too harsh, too violent. Maybe if Iwaizumi was nicer, prettier, and prepared a sincere and sappy confession complete with chocolates, he would’ve stayed, and they could’ve planned their futures together, if not as lovers, then as best friends until the end of time.

Sometimes, Iwaizumi thought about how they would be as lovers. Would they be different than how they were as friends? Would he still call him _Trashykawa_ and would he still call him _Iwa-chan_? Would they still use whatever excuse they could to order Domino’s? Would Iwaizumi still go to sleep earlier to the shouts of recorded volleyball games and wake up later to the smell of burnt eggs on the stove? Would Iwaizumi grab flowers for him on his way home from work? Would their lazy nights be accompanied with lazy kissing, lazy sex, lazy cuddling? Would the _“I love yous”_ be meaningful and rare or plenty and comfortable? Would they be different? Would they be the same?

Iwaizumi wondered, but it was often short lived. How can he dream about expanding their friendship when it didn’t seem like they have any friendship left in the first place? Iwaizumi got left behind in Miyagi with nothing but memories and what-ifs. Besides, it was too late now.

Obviously.

 

* * *

 

Like chapters in a book, life is just moments confined in the inevitability of time. And Iwaizumi found himself stuck on the page titled _Oikawa Tooru._ Partly because he loved him, a little bit. But mostly it was because he had never known anything but the story of two boys, catching beetles on hot summer nights, laughing and crying and _living,_ always together.

But someplace halfway down the page, the boys grew up. And now Oikawa was playing Division I collegiate volleyball at the University of Tokyo, 300 kilometers away from him, leaving him in the dust of happier times. Forcing him to pick up the pieces.

That was it, really.

**Author's Note:**

> this is fine lol
> 
> EDIT 10/2: fixed some grammar errors and clarified some confusing bits.


End file.
